A/N: Wow, 12k words? How did that happen, though? (Kidding, I wanted it to be at least 10k.) Excuse me while I scream about how long this took.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, SakuraMoriChan! Both for putting up with my dumb writing schedule and for being a great editor in general.

Anyway, I do hope you enjoy! If you get confused, a list of respective human names of the countries are located at the end (and also on my tumblr, if you prefer that).

ACT 1 PART 1 — WHERE THE SKY BEGINS.
Just for a minute, the silver forked sky
Lit you up like a star that I will follow
Now it's found us like I have found you
I don't want to run, just overwhelm me

-;-

The sun rises below our feet.

Arthur Kirkland shifts his book bag on his shoulder, staring at the bright blue and silver graffiti in front of him. Even in the sluggish morning light, the graffiti looks close to glistening, scrawled with thick paint on the high wall — more specifically, the one that runs along a path to his school's main building.

The word 'strategic' comes to Arthur, because it is also the path that is most frequented by students and instructors alike. Arthur thinks that he would have called the act of vandalism gutsy, had he not known any better.

He does know better, though, and his mouth almost twists into a frown.

His friend, Kiku Honda, is standing only two steps behind him, having been the one to see the damage first. He is staring at the graffiti with a thoughtful expression.

Arthur glances back and catches the other boy's eye.

Kiku gives an acknowledging hum."It is a nice thought," he says. "And a daring act."

Arthur scoffs, the first sound that he has made since setting sight on the defacement. "I'd agree with you, but… If anything, World Academy paid some urchin off the streets to put it there." He gestures carelessly at the words, which has a height that spans across almost half of the wall. "Otherwise they would have been stopped the moment they dipped the brush into the paint can."

Kiku looks at the graffiti again, considering Arthur's words. "Perhaps."

Then Kiku turns his gaze back to his friend, quietly taking note of the glare Arthur does not seem to realize that he is giving to the haphazardly painted words.

"It would be to increase morale, would it not?" Kiku finally says, and he tilts his head to the wall, just slightly. "Putting a creative twist on common knowledge."

Arthur shakes his head. "Sure." He hears a few whoops and hollers behind him, and grimaces. "Not that many people need such a thing. Let's go, Kiku."

Kiku glances at the source of the noise: three students in their year who are known for being troublemakers. They were sorted into the same crew as Kiku and Arthur this year, so they all know each other, but Kiku usually prefers different, quieter company, and Arthur seems to dislike them. Kiku nods and follows Arthur to the assembly hall.

The sun rises below our feet, Arthur repeats silently as they walk. He suppresses a shudder, thinking of rickety death traps in the sky — and under them all.

Why would anyone want that?

-;-

"Mattie! Mattie!" Amelia F. Jones' voice pierces through dust and bookstore calm.

Matthew Williams sighs, snapping the book he had been reading closed — and immediately regrets doing so. The action causes a thick cloud of dust to puff up between the pages and straight into his face, and he is coughing by the time his twin sister comes up to him.

"Heh… You did that book-shutting thing again, didn't you?" Amelia teases him, and he glares at her through watery lilac eyes.

Amelia snickers, but she sits down next to Matthew in between the bookshelves and waits for him to get past his coughing fit.

"What did you want?" Matthew sniffs a few seconds later, wiping his nose on a sleeve.

Amelia whips out a black book with a scratched cover and fraying edges. "Look!" She pulls Matthew's book out of his hands and pushes her own one right into his face.

Matthew pushes it away with a huff and squints at the title. It is written in ridiculously fancy lettering, full of overlapping curlicues and unnecessary design. He makes a face at the little stars sprinkled above the title.

"Well?" Amelia says, expectant.

"Well," Matthew says slowly, taking in her hopeful expression. "It looks obnoxious."

Amelia groans. "It says Astronomical Theories and Astriferous Studies: Volume X-I-I!" She pronounces XII as the actual letters, and Matthew knows, just knows that some hoity toity scholarly type overheard that and winced. They are in one of the only bookshops in the First City, after all, and Amelia is rather loud.

Matthew has to fight down the urge to wince himself.

He narrows his eyes at Amelia instead, and does not waste time to ask himself if she is actually serious. The only possible answer Amelia would be able to give is either a validation or a denial, yet both of them would make him roll his eyes.

"Where's Volume One?" Matthew asks. "Stupid."

Amelia sticks her tongue out at him. "Like I'd waste more time looking for it!"

"So…"

"So…" Amelia hums and grabs the book back, quick enough to take Matthew by surprise. "Can we please buy it?"

"That isn't really fair—" Matthew makes a swipe for the book, but Amelia holds it out of the way. "Amelia!"

"Why not?" Amelia whines. "I'll teach you everything in here, you know I'm good at this stuff, please please please—"

"Ame—"

Amelia flips the book open, and points her finger at a random section. "Look, Mattie... Observe the carefully hand-printed words, the wax that binds it all together, the smell of ink and knowledge! It is so important!"

"I wouldn't know about important."

Amelia turns the book back to herself. "No, see, listen to this: The advantage of the equatorial coordinate system is that it expresses the position of a star or galaxy in a—"

"Oh." Matthew eyes the book. "Maps."

Coordinates. Directions. Steering.

Sky ships.

"Yeah!" Amelia nods her head. "Maps!"

"...We only have enough for one book," Matthew says. "Get something we're both interested in."

Amelia pouts at him for a moment, and Matthew contemplates shoving her purely to get that look off of her face. "Why aren't you this…" she waves her free hand in his direction, "with other people!"

"Because you're you," Matthew says immediately, knowing a chance when he is given one, and flips open his book once more. "It's easy to do this with you."

Amelia levels a look full of disbelief at him.

When Matthew raises his eyes from his book for just a second to meet her gaze, there is a slightly impish smile on his features.

Amelia makes a face, looking like she wants to cross her arms, and mutters under her breath about cute little brothers using their powers for evil. She stands up and brushes off her skirt.

"It's not because you're charming or anything," Matthew feels the need to tell her. He tries to look for the paragraph where he had left off. "And you're not the older twin. Officially."

"Yeah, yeah," Amelia says after pausing for a moment, stepping sideways and blocking his light. "I bet I'm the older one, though!"

Matthew sends her a displeased look, and she grins, sidestepping again. Matthew rolls his eyes and continues reading.

"I'll look for 'something we're both interested in'," Amelia air quotes as she walks away. She disappears behind shelves and near-toppling stacks of books.

Matthew sits in silence for a while before sighing. He looks up from his book to where Amelia had walked off, and looks back down with a troubled expression.

Matthew knows that Amelia wants to be some kind of sky ship pilot. It is painfully obvious, though maybe that is only because Matthew is her brother. As far as he can remember, Amelia has always, always looked toward the sky with a sharp kind of yearning — one that, even as the years go by, Matthew has never fully comprehended.

But is it not understandable, that he can't understand it? Who has ever heard of a female pilot? Nobody speaks of things like that; even Amelia has never directly voiced her dream. Not to her playmates in the alleys, not even to Matthew.

Matthew chews on the inside of his mouth and shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts. He would not even think to worry if it were any other person, because there really is no way she could ever get someone to teach her, even informally…

But this is Amelia, and she has a knack for being persistent and determined enough to get what she wants — and getting in trouble along the way.

I'm here, though, Matthew thinks as he plays with a corner of one of the book's pages. If she does anything stupid, I'll be there to stop her.

-;-

"It seems the graffiti truly is school-ordered, Kirkland-san," Kiku says as the six members of Crew W1-57A file into one of World Academy's smaller hangars. Light filters into the building from numerous skylights and hits the two sky ships snugly parked inside.

"It's Arthur," Arthur says to Kiku, choosing to forgo in joining the excited murmuring of their crew mates. He looks at the sky ship closest to them with something akin to dread.

It is nothing like the war zeppelins their instructors have shown them in glossy photographs — no, those had fiery plumes of masts and sails, sharp even when the monochrome hues blended the solids with the shadows — but the ship in front of him is still large, and it can definitely sail, and Arthur is expected to board it today —

"Arthur-san," Kiku repeats. His voice sounds a notch calmer than usual as he tugs gently on Arthur's sleeve. "Our instructors did not comment on the graffiti during the assembly at all."

"Graffiti?" Francis Bonnefoy pipes in from behind Kiku.

Arthur manages to tear his eyes away from the ship and glares at him. "He was talking to me, Bonnefoy."

Francis' smile turns saccharine. "And I was talking to Kiku!" He looks back at Kiku, whose gaze shifts from Francis to Arthur and back again. "What graffiti?"

"Graffiti?" Antonio Carriedo and Gilbert Beilschmidt chorus from behind Francis.

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. "Incredible. Incredible and wholly unsurprising, that you three wouldn't notice such brightly colored words so blatantly presented near the walkway you use every day."

Francis has an expression on his face that says, You talk too much, but he refrains from saying anything. Arthur graciously acts as if he does not see it.

"Eh? What did it say?" Antonio asks with a curious smile, easily ignoring Arthur's scalding tone.

"'The sun rises below our feet,'" Gilbert says, before Kiku or Arthur can reply. "Right? I saw that!"

Kiku nods, and Arthur crosses his arms.

"Ooh." Antonio tilts his dark-haired head. "That sounds pretty."

"Pretty?" Francis says. "It's poetry! The words, imagine whisp—"

"Alright, shut up," Arthur snaps before the other boy could get into the mood. He thinks that he might have seen Kiku give a small sigh in relief.

Francis scoffs, crossing his arms. Then he pauses, and bestows a smile upon Arthur. "Ah, Arthur, I apologize; I forgot you plan to be a grumpy old man with eyebrows big enough to balance the fact that he has no sex life whatsoever!"

There is a beat of silence, before Gilbert bursts out laughing. "Didn't even waste a second to slam him, eh, Francis?"

"Why you—!" Arthur makes a lunge towards them both.

Before a fight can break out, Antonio hisses, "Bondevik!"

The boys stop immediately and scramble to form a line starting from where Kiku is already standing at attention, facing the hangar entrance.

A moment later, Ludwig Beilschmidt, their section representative, walks in with their instructor for the day. Lukas Bondevik is an instructor that does not frequently come to teach them, but they all recognize him for his somewhat puzzling nature… and, admittedly, the sailor hat that he always wears.

Ludwig joins the line after a short word with the instructor.

Bondevik sweeps an assessing gaze across their line, his blue eyes blunt and icy at the same time. He lets a heavy sense of quiet settle over the boys before speaking.

"Atrocious," he clips, voice low but ringing out across the hangar. "Is this what Densen taught you what correct stances should be like?"

The boys glance at each other and straighten to the best of their abilities, shifting so that they stand like Ludwig and Kiku, who have not moved an inch.

"Better," Bondevik says. His gaze turns less assessing, and more flat. "Today will be your first time to commandeer a sky ship in the air. I will be with you only for guidance — and to fix mistakes, if necessary." His voice goes sharper at the end. A warning. "Additionally, in case you have any mistaken expectations: the activity will be nothing like the simulations. The real experience, in the air, will be much more complicated. Any questions?"

Arthur counts up to seven seconds of silence before Bondevik continues.

"Good. All aboard." The corners of the instructor's lips twitch for a split second, as if he were having an inside joke with himself. Arthur would not be surprised if that truly were the case; Bondevik has displayed an odd sense of humor on occasion.

The boys systematically board the ship with Bondevik following close behind. "Who is today's designated helmsman?" the instructor asks.

With a crew as small as theirs, the helmsman and the captain had to be merged into one role. The boys had inevitably fought over the rank. Arthur did so as well, though his attempt was half-hearted at best and only for show, before Kiku logically pointed out that the only person suited for the job would be… well, the elder Beilschmidt.

With a wide grin, Gilbert steps out of line and salutes Bondevik. "That would be me, sir!"

Bondevik eyes his grin with sordid regard. "Also?"

"Master-of-Arms, sir." Because school blimps have no weapons to speak of, Gilbert was chosen as captain, in the end.

Bondevik nods his approval. "To your positions."

Ears pounding, Arthur gets to his seat on the front left of the gondola. He looks up at the blinking screen on the wall and the gauges and knobs in front of him. On his right, Antonio sits next to him, having been the one to start their station up; together, they specialize in working the navigation status controls.

On their left, Kiku seats himself in front of a smaller station than theirs. A screen lights up and several graphs and information blocks come to attention. He is the science officer of the ship.

Behind them, Francis and Ludwig sit near to each other. Francis, as the communications command, puts on a headset and speaks in a low tone into the receiver. Ludwig examines his own screen, which perpetually displays a map of the ship and the current states of the mechanisms included. He is the ship's engineer and mechanic.

"Weather conditions?" Gilbert suddenly barks.

"Ideal," Kiku says promptly.

"Communications?"

"Connected!" Francis calls.

"Ship entirety?"

"Optimal," Ludwig says.

"Status controls?"

"Working!" Antonio says, with Arthur muttering the word a beat behind. Antonio throws Arthur an inquisitive look. During the simulations, they'd had perfect sync.

Arthur shakes his head with a stiff smile, and Antonio shrugs it off with a smile of his own.

"Ready," Gilbert says grandly, holding the steering wheel steady, "For liftoff!"

"Yes, captain!" they chorus, though Ludwig looks as if he wants to roll his eyes.

-;-

Amelia hums next to Matthew, swinging their purchase from the bookstore in her hands as they walk side by side. It is a hot day, and when she raises her eyes, the brownish gray smog covering the sky is a little bit lovelier than usual.

"Amelia…" Matthew starts.

"Hmm?" Amelia turns to him, smiling. Her dark gold hair bounces with each step, and her glasses are, like always, a little smudged.

Matthew opens his mouth, and does not know what to say. "G-Give me that if you aren't reading it!"

"Oh?" Amelia glances at the book in her hand, Gupta Muhammad Hassan's The Effects of Automata. It details, with daunting meticulousness, how automatons have affected the Four Cities' history, culture, and economics. She had grabbed the book and practically forced Matthew to buy it, arguing that she had a perfectly acceptable amount of interest in the contents and that he could find it genuinely useful for his apprenticeship.

Amelia had really just wanted to get out of the bookshop, because she had seen one of the people she did odd jobs for, and though they were nice enough, Amelia didn't want to spend more time than necessary near them. Matthew does not have to know about that, though. Besides, she thinks she saw something about quick-draw in the book which she definitely plans to look for later.

Amelia shrugs one of her shoulders and holds the book out to Matthew. "I'm reading it when we get there, though!"

Matthew makes a non-committal sound, struggling not to frown. Did he honestly just stutter in front of his own twin? He hasn't done that since shortly before they reached adolescence, and the fact that he did so now, at the age of sixteen… it makes his jaw hurt.

He knows he needs to talk to her about many things. He has to, so that they can try to be on the same page, so that everything does not blow up in their faces later on.

How can he even know where to begin, though?

Amelia raises an eyebrow and shakes the book in front of him. "Hey? Earth to Mattie!"

Matthew takes it from her hand. Talk to her now, he tells himself, but his mouth keeps itself sealed shut.

(There is something, twisting in his gut, preventing him to speak — and he does not understand why.

What are you so afraid of?)

Amelia snorts when she somehow catches the poorly hidden consternation on Matthew's face. "You really want to read it before me that bad? Fi-ine, I'll read it tomorrow."

Matthew looks at her earnest face and takes a deep breath. And, for some reason, feels his lips pull into a wry smile, despite everything.

"Mattie?"

"Why do you always do things like this?"

He is, of course, referring to her flat-out refusal to understand other people deeper than whatever she sees at first glance, but Amelia grins and says, "Because I'm the hero! And heroes let other people read books before them, especially the boring ones."

"Boring," Matthew repeats, but looks genuinely unsurprised. "I knew it."

"Wait, okay," Amelia backtracks, mischief leaking into her grin. "I guess the quick-draw section might be kind of exciting."

Matthew nearly trips in alarm. "You mean — with guns— you shouldn't —"

"Relax, Mattie! It's part of automaton history, plus guns, so I bet Vash will get around to teaching you about this kind of stuff sooner or later!" With a loud laugh that makes other people on the street glance at them, Amelia slings an arm around Matthew's neck, and says in a lower tone, "Make me one?"

"Sorry," Matthew says with a sigh, and thinks of how to put it in such a way that his twin would understand. "...We would need a gun that isn't Vash's, and those cost too much."

Amelia makes a mock disappointed face and starts to reply, but whatever she means to say is drowned out by a deep whirr that seems to come from all around them.

Matthew watches his sister's expression change from teasing to thrilled. "Wait," he starts, but Amelia is already scampering off to the nearest side alley. His stomach drops. "Wait!"

When Matthew reaches the alleyway — a shadowy, littered path with metal walkways bridging the two buildings on either side, with rusted balconies and strange stains on the bricks — Amelia is on her way up.

Amelia throws a quick smile down at him, already meters above the cobblestones. Matthew makes sure that she can see his disapproving glare.

Amelia only laughs.

The metal beneath her feet hums a deep kind of harsh, the vibrations in the air thrumming in both of the twins' ribcages. It makes her blood rush, warm and tingly, and she makes for a jump to the higher balcony in front of her.

"Amelia!" Matthew's voice is just about completely overwhelmed by the whirring noise, but is also just sharp enough in tone to make Amelia flail mid-leap.

With a grunt, Amelia lands roughly on the creaky balcony, scraping her knees. She twists around to peer down at him darkly. "You almost made me fall!"

"Who got herself up there in the first place?" Matthew calls back. He hesitates, and then: "Sorry, though."

Amelia does not hear the softer apology, however, and is already looking up. Her expression is speculative, that much is clear, and when Matthew attempts to follow her gaze from his angle, he has to bite back a curse.

The last and highest balcony in the alleyway is to the left and a little above the one Amelia is crouched on, but not near enough for her to be able to try to jump for it. She would certainly fall if she tried.

However… There is a rusty rod sticking out of the building's wall, which perhaps used to serve as a flagpole, or a clothes hanger. It is located at just the right place — high enough for someone to swing from the balcony below to the one above.

Matthew starts when he sees her decisively take a few steps backwards. "Amelia, no—"

Amelia takes off at as much of a run she can make, leaps with her hands outstretched, catches the rod — it bends, her eyes widen, Matthew almost screams — and swings herself, with all her might, up onto the highest balcony. She lands on her back with a rough thud and does not move.

Matthew finds that his breath is stuck in his throat.

Amelia stays like that, lying on the unequable metal, the only things in her world being her heavy breathing, her heart thumping in her ears like a crashing, paceless crescendo, and the reverberations that only grow stronger and stronger.

Then she lets out a breathless laugh that shakes her shoulders.

Matthew struggles not to cry in relief as he lets out a, "You idiot!" that somehow still carries enough for Amelia to hear it from where she is.

Amelia sits up with the brightest smile on her face.

"I'm amazing!" she calls down to him, and is met with a strangled sound — Amelia is not sure what to make of it, but his outraged expression and jerky arm movements make it clear that he is not saying any actual words.

Or words that Amelia really needs to hear, anyway.

She hops to her feet with only a tiny wince and surveys the area, using her hands as binoculars. There are smoke pillars spilling out from the roofs of buildings around her, smoke chugging out of the few automobiles she can see on the streets; small people in bleak colors scurrying along the roads and the Castle of Clubs rising in the background with clouds curling along the fortress towers.

All fairly normal, Amelia thinks with a nod.

Amelia raises her gaze and zeroes in on the object she had climbed up for: a sky ship, marvelous in the vast space above them.

The balloon itself is white, with an olive green club near the end that signifies its sympathies with the First City. The dull gold insignia of World Academy below the semicircle shows that it is a school blimp.

Amelia swallows down an old, familiar envy when she sees small figures through the elegantly curved gondola's windows, quickly going in and out of sight, obviously harried by an unseen instructor.

(The envy still settles deep in her gut.

She smothers it with wonder.)

Amelia watches the sky ship soar through the air, as it keeps a leisurely yet slightly turbulent pace which removes any doubt that whoever is manning the ship are students. When the ship turns to circle back to the academy's landing zone, she climbs back down.

Matthew has his arms crossed when she hops down in front of him. "This wasn't necessary," he informs her, sour expression in place.

Amelia grins at him. Her hair is ruffled, her knees and palms are scratched, and she absolutely glows as if she had been on the sky ship herself. "Says you."

Matthew sighs, uncrosses his arms. "What was it this time, though, a war ark?"

"A school boat!"

"What."

"It was a school boat?"

"No, hold on!" Matthew glares at her. "You risked your neck — scared the life out of me — for a view of a school boat?"

"It was still an airship, Mattie. And they are training to fly war arks, you know."

"Training to go to war," Matthew agrees, his tone dismissive.

Amelia frowns slightly. "Training to be heroes."

"Which is what you want, right," Matthew says before thinking, an act that is something Amelia usually has a monopoly on, but they are siblings.

When Amelia unintentionally flinches and looks down — because of course she would, of course — Matthew curses under his breath and wishes that he had not said anything at all. "I mean… I mean… Actually." Matthew fumbles with his words, but realizes. It is better late than never. "You want to."

"I…" Amelia raises her gaze, and keeps it steady when she meets his. Her eyes are bright even in the shadows of the alleyway, and, for once, she speaks softly. "Yeah."

Matthew's hands clench, and if Amelia notices, her voice only gets stronger.

"Yeah, I do."

Matthew has something to say to that, a lot of things — they're not heroes you're just a girl please Amelia stop being so —

— but behind all her bravado, past her tilted chin and set shoulders, his sister looks at him with something so easily breakable in her entire expression. Matthew knows that Amelia has just laid out everything with those few words, has just been completely honest and true to him.

So instead of saying what he wants to, instead of matching her sincerity, Matthew jerks his head in a nod. Manages, at least, a quiet, "Okay."

Amelia is visibly relieved, but also a little wary. "Okay," she says in the most careful tone Matthew has ever heard from her.

In the distance, the city clock chimes once, making the both of them jump.

It is time for Matthew's lessons to continue, and they are still streets away from Zwingli Mechanicals. Matthew makes a move to go, but stops when Amelia keeps still.

"You go ahead." Amelia waves him off with an uncertain smile. It is not Matthew's fault, but she thinks that if she stays in his company for much longer she might scream. "I'm — going to visit someone."

"Who?"

"Oh, um. Laura."

Matthew thinks of a green pair of eyes and a ribbon to match. "Why?"

"She… told me to visit her today," Amelia says lamely. She is lying through her teeth, and both of them know it.

Matthew only makes an assenting noise, even then. He doesn't want to actually fight. "I'll… see you then."

He still stays standing there, hesitant, until Amelia cannot take it anymore. Her mouth twists something awful, and she stamps her foot, startling her brother. "Ugh, go! You're late already!" She makes shoo-ing movements with her hands.

It does not exactly shatter the icy wall that they both do not want but somehow put up together, but Matthew offers Amelia a wave and sprints out of the alley. He really is running late.

After she is sure that Matthew is far enough away, Amelia clasps her hands behind her back and walks out of the alley as well. She stands at the shadows of the street, looks around.

It is honestly rather comforting, the way that the First City always is, with similar-looking streets winding around and around, the royal family's sign of clubs molded on walls and stuck on stores and printed on fliers, and the occasional pathstone that juts out of place and makes someone trip now and then.

Amelia stays there for a calm moment, before giving a thoughtful hum and walking in the opposite direction of Zwingli Mechanicals. Not visiting Laura would make her feel like a filthy liar… and she had been so honest today, too.

Amelia's hand twitches and she struggles not to feel nervous.

That… scene in the alley had been the first time she had ever spoken of her life goal to another person. Oh, she had said the words aloud many times, but always alone, always hidden, tucked in a closet or a bathroom or under her covers.

The words 'I want to be a pilot' were always whispered, hushed and discreet — but what is the opposite of hushed, of discreet, is that they always overwhelm her with so much ambition.

And even with all that, the words had been alien in her mouth when she spoke them to her twin. It was frightening, in a way; Matthew had seemed almost reluctant to hear whatever she was about to say, but…

Matthew had listened, he had heard. And he had said 'Okay,' even though it did not seem like he was all that okay.

She wants to be a pilot. She wants to fly so, so much that it hurts.

Amelia is honestly glad that Matthew is the first one she told it to.

She pauses on the sidewalk, chewing on the inside of her mouth. There is a flyer on the ground. Even though it has obviously been stepped on a number of times, it still has a glossy sheen to it — the words EARLY PILOTING LESSONS; ACT NOW! catching Amelia's eye.

Early piloting lessons are intended for males younger than eighteen who can't afford classes in World Academy, but would still like a head-start before the actual mandatory lessons that prepare all of the able men in the city for war.

Matthew has never been to one, and Amelia has never told him to. She stares at the flier, her eyebrows furrowing a small amount.

"Amelia, hey." A white-gloved hand waves in front of her face.

"Uh?" Amelia steps back, blinking up at the speaker's face. Her mouth pops open when she realizes who is standing in front of her. "Lars! What— Oh." She looks at the gate of World Academy, only a few paces away from where she is standing.

Lars van Rijn looks down at her, his blue and white striped scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. He does not smile, but his eyes regard her with warm familiarity. "What are you doing here? Looking for my sister?"

"Yeah!" Amelia nods, smiling at him. "Were you calling for me?" When Lars nods once, she scratches the back of her neck, sheepish. "Sorry, I was… thinking. I didn't even realize that I'd come so far already."

"Hm, well." Lars shoves his hands into his uniform. "Nothing wrong with being deep in thought now and then."

The pilot trainee does not ask about what she was thinking of, nor does he tease her about being air-headed. Amelia just knew that she had a good reason for liking him, even if he talks to her brother more often… and gives tulips to Matthew, gives him tulips annually, and huh, she might need to look into this later.

"Hey," Amelia says, shaking her head with a little grin. "Before I ask you if you know where Laura is, guess what?" Lars politely begins to ask her what, and only raises an eyebrow when Amelia does not even give him a chance to finish. "I saw a school boat flying around today!"

"Ah. Not surprising." Lars nods, absentmindedly running a finger across his scarf. "The crew activities started this afternoon."

"Did you get to do it already? Is that why you're wandering out of the school?"

"I haven't yet…" Lars tilts his head. "And no, I'm off school grounds because my friends and I are looking for graffiti. The one who finds the best one wins." The eager glint in his green eyes makes it clear to Amelia that the prize is likely money.

"Wait… Graffiti?" Amelia catches on to the detail and frowns at him. "Why that?"

Lars leans in towards her conspiringly, and she finds herself leaning in as well. "There was graffiti found inside the school today."

"…Okay?"

Lars looks almost exasperated. "World Academy doesn't get intruded so easily. This is a surprising thing, alright?"

"Oh." Amelia stifles a laugh at his expression. "What did it say, then?"

"You'll like the words," says Lars. "I think."

Amelia waits for him to continue, but he does not. "Huh? Is that it? 'You'll like the words, I think'?"

"What… No, Amelia," he says, looking for all the world as if he wants to roll his eyes. It makes Amelia want to pout. "I was building suspense. Clearly."

"Suspense is stupid!" Amelia declares, trying not to feel embarrassed just because Lars is feeling dramatic all of a sudden. "Just tell me it already!"

"The sun rises below our feet," Lars says, with as much flourish as a person like him can inject in his speech.

"Oh, that's…" Acutely feeling his expectant gaze, Amelia makes an effort to think of something to say that sounds appropriately impressed. "Um…"

"Forget it," Lars says, and he really does roll his eyes this time. "You're not that interested in written matters, I know. I suppose I thought that since it was related to the sky you would find it appealing."

Amelia crosses her arms. "Well, it's kind of obvious, don't you think!" she says defensively. "Duh, the sun rises under us; we're so up high! Next thing will be all about how the City of Clubs' symbol is a club, or something!"

"Yeah… I guess so."

Amelia squints up at him, ruffled. "You're actually pretty excited, aren't you? I'm guessing for the crew activity. That's why you're all giddy."

"You would be too," Lars says. "Don't patronize me."

"I would! I would be excited!" Amelia says earnestly. "And I was just pointing it out."

Lars regards her thoughtfully. "You… have always had a curiosity for the sky… Maybe you could have been a pilot." He pauses, and adds, "Too bad you aren't male, though."

Oh, shit, Amelia thinks, and laughs a bit desperately. "And rich, too," she says. Lars blinks and immediately begins to apologize, but Amelia blurts out, "The sky's pretty, is all."

(…Oh.

That hurt.)

Some people in World Academy uniforms call Lars' name from behind him, and he raises a hand for them to wait. "I have to go, but Laura is at the shop as usual." He hesitates as he turns. "I am sorry, though."

"It's fine," Amelia says, waving her hands in front of her. "Thanks, Lars. Tell Lux I said hi!"

They both nod to each other as they go their separate ways. Amelia reaches the van Rijn family restaurant in under five minutes, as it is so near to World Academy. She looks back down the street.

Too bad you aren't male, though. Amelia lets a heavy, quiet sigh escape her, lips pursing slightly. She feels like she could drown in all the unfairness, because Lars did not have to be so blunt, and because the whole world did not have to be so synonymous to that single statement.

She ducks into the moderately sized building, ignoring the small red sign on the door that says CLOSED. Her eyes widen in delight when she breathes in the sweet smell of pastries and sweetmeats.

"Mm, what is this?" Amelia says in amazement. "Is it pie day or something?"

Laura van Rijn's head pokes out from underneath the counter. "Oh! Amelia, hello!"

Amelia walks around the tables and to the displays. She tries not to press her face against the glass. "Seriously, did you turn the restaurant into a bakery while I wasn't looking?"

The taller girl laughs. "No, there's only a big order for desserts that's due today. That's why our restaurant is, you know, closed." Laura raises an eyebrow and pins Amelia with a Look.

"Really?" Amelia says cheerfully. "I didn't notice. Haha, I guess you forgot to flip the sign, then!"

Laura makes a humming noise. "Okay. I'll go and flip it."

"Ah! No, no it's perfectly fine, I already did that."

Laura only looks at her, and both of them know that Amelia is awful at all this subtlety business. "You would fail spectacularly at espionage," is what she says, and Amelia laughs in agreement and turns back to the glass.

"Those aren't for sale, by the way." Laura gestures at the various sweets in the displays. "We just ran out of room to hold the confections in."

"I didn't come here to buy anything anyway," Amelia says lightly.

"Really? Does that mean you came here for my company?" Laura teases, waving at her with a rolling pin. "I seem to recall that only two days ago you told me you only liked me for my sandwiches."

"Don't get me wrong, I love your sandwiches! And your waffles!" Amelia hops to the counter. Something flashes behind Laura and catches Amelia's eye as she moves. "Mmh... Though I'd like to ask you something too, I guess."

"Go ahead," Laura sighs with a smile as she puts the rolling pin down. "Sometimes the constant sweetness does feel a little suffocating."

"Blasphemy!" says Amelia. "I thought you were queen of all gourmet and tasty snacks!"

"Hush, you!" Laura says, flustered. "Flattery won't get you free food."

Amelia grins at her. "It was worth a try." She moves around and behind the counter, and picks up the object that flashed seconds ago. It is a thin blade that Amelia thinks is usually used for cutting slices of meat. She flips it over to her other hand. Laura had probably made a sandwich with it earlier as a snack. "So, listen…"

"Yes?" Laura bends down and opens a drawer to get a jar of powdered sugar.

Amelia tilts her head. "I'm kind of curious. What would I look like as a boy?"

Laura bumps her hand against the inner wood of the drawer. She recognizes that tone of voice. She jerks her head to where Amelia is standing, looks at the blade in the girl's hand, and laughs nervously. "Amelia, whatever it is you want to do, maybe you should think about it again. Please."

Amelia's smile turns sweet. "Cut my hair, Laura."

"No—"

Fifteen minutes later, Amelia walks out with a pleased expression and inches of hair lighter.

-;-

Arthur is tired.

More than tired, Arthur is shaking, scared, trying to calm down. He is trying to remind himself that he is not in the sky anymore — but, damn if that isn't true in the least, this whole city is supported by nothing but air and the old turbines that Arthur has read shudder and creak and are only replaced when one gets so bad there are visible signs of deterioration.

Arthur swallows and tries not to let his own terror engulf him.

Think of something else.

He takes a deep breath.

There are… books in his room — not the one Arthur shares with Kiku, but an actual room in his family's manor — books that range from strict educational tomes to old adventurers' letters and journals telling of explorations in places far away.

The latter has always been his favorite.

They describe things that Arthur has never experienced, like trekking through forests and running down hills and sailing across oceans.

They have made Arthur want to sneak to the edge of the city, climb over the city walls, and hang over the rails just to see the 'deep blue swells of Adam's sparkling ale'. However odd the phrasings may be, they still make Arthur wonder at how differences in experiences can change the way a person talks and thinks and goes through life.

The letters and journals could be forged, obviously; they could have been written by various people with imaginations so large that everything came spilling out from their pens. But Arthur has read, in more trustworthy sources, of the vast lands that the Four Cities, in their static hovering above a point in an unnamed ocean, will never come near. So he believes in them, generally, at least.

And there are few people who live differently from them, who live on land and travel the sea and do not take in the sky with every breath. But they are there, however small their number might be.

Both the environment and people below are things Arthur knows exists, and has an understanding of, because aside from the journals, and the letters, his school books and instructors occasionally mention them, if only in passing mention and vague words of caution.

One concept has come up more than once, and every time it does, Arthur's interest perks a bit more.

Sailing on water.

How would it feel, to be on a boat that does not hum and crackle? Would it be too silent, to not hear a muffled whirring from the inside of a gondola? What sound waves make when they crash against the hull and make the whole ship lurch?

It is so very fascinating, to think about water so endless it disappears into the distance in all directions, and Arthur does not understand why everyone does not find it so as well. He knows that he probably is not the first one; there must be more people with, at least, an interest in a different kind of sailing.

"Arthur?"

Arthur hides a jump and sees Kiku come from around the building. "Kiku."

"Hello." Kiku stops a few steps away from him. "You disappeared right after our activity." It is said in a level tone, but the question underneath is clear.

Arthur ignores it, breathes in slowly. Polluted air, he thinks, the arbitrary phrase flitting across his mind through no real cause. He raises his gaze to the sky. "Yeah."

Kiku waits for an explanation. When nothing comes forth, he steps back once. "I will be heading back to the dormitory."

"Yes, alright." Arthur watches Kiku nod and turn back around the corner. He struggles not to blurt out anything stupid — the sky was too big and we were too in it — and shakes his head sharply when the words try to come out of his mouth anyway.

Arthur catches the glance Kiku sends back over his shoulder, and he tries to convey an apology with his expression. Kiku makes no indication that he understood it, and only turns back to continue walking, but Arthur feels better.

Kiku deserves a better friend, Arthur frequently thinks. A friend that is not a headcase, like Arthur, who is so daunted by the sky that during activities goes so low as to being torn between wanting to die already and desperately wanting to survive.

Arthur abruptly turns his head, because his stomach is starting to churn again. He looks at the other hangars a little ways off. A few of them house the smaller, one-pilot ships, which are to be used for the solo activities.

Speaking of.

The first solo activity is coming up, and everyone keeps talking about it. Even Kiku had, haltingly, asked if Arthur wanted to go over the steps on solo piloting with him and, perhaps, Ludwig. The dark haired boy's small smile had betrayed his excitement, but had not indicated any surprise when Arthur had mumbled something about being 'busy'.

Arthur grits his teeth, because his hands have started to shake. He does not want to be a pilot. He does not want to fly.

He just wants to leave.

-;-

Amelia skids into Zwingli Mechanicals and runs up the stairs two steps at a time.

There are no sounds of metal being scraped or hammered, nor is there any cheerful humming coming from the medicine lab, so Amelia knows that nobody is home. According to a note placed in the edge of Vash's door, Lili is out buying more ingredients for another batch of tonics. Vash and Matthew have probably gone out to do whatever mechanics and mechanics' apprentices do.

Perfect time for me to plan, Amelia thinks with cheer.

She is in the middle of opening her and Matthew's room door when all of her observations click together. She freezes, heart nearly stopping.

Nobody else is in the building.

The door should have been locked.

Amelia bites her tongue hard before she can scream "Ghosts!" or anything just as ridiculous. She goes into the room and hurriedly snatches up the wrench Matthew left on the dresser last night after, Amelia half-remembers, finishing up a small project Vash had given him last minute.

Amelia hesitates before moving again. Should she call for help? Would anyone even come? Amelia shakes her head. Considering that the only neighbor who cares enough to distinguish between Amelia's happy and unhappy yells is Vladimir Popescu, who is off on a trip to the other end of the First City with his younger brother Mola, she does not have the greatest confidence anyone will come immediately.

Don't you dare be scared, Amelia tells herself, walking slowly back down the stairs.

Amelia grips the wrench tighter and worries her lip. A break-in means that a stranger is inside, and that probably means that someone is stealing from them, from Lili and Vash, the only people in the world who were kind enough to take Matthew and Amelia in.

That is not good, not at all. It is the opposite of good, it is downright villainous, and there is something not quite traitorous that whispers in her mind, hey, Amelia, aren't you supposed to be a hero?

Amelia is not sure why she hears Matthew's voice in those words, but a new sort of confidence fills her even so. She reaches the bottom step and from the back room hears the noise of a jar of small things crash, probably filled with nails or screws, and then hears a muffled curse and someone scrambling around.

Amelia rushes to the door, the wrench held in a death grip, and — and sees a child, a boy, who cannot be much older than ten. He is on the floor, trying to clean up the mess of metal tidbits on the floorboards, but jumps up when he notices he is no longer alone.

He is dressed in the oddest clothing Amelia has ever seen: a dark blue vest pulled over a loose white top, matching blue pants, and a striped sash pulled around his messy blond head. Despite all this, the only thing that Amelia can think of to say is, "What happened to your eyebrows?"

Under the bushiest eyebrows Amelia has ever seen, the boy's blue eyes widen — really, his eyes are almost as bright as Amelia's — and he starts stuttering, "I, uh, I was looking for a — a mechanic!"

That is when Amelia remembers that he broke in. "Like I would believe that!" She takes a step closer, keeping the wrench in full view. "Why're you in here, really?"

The boy snaps his mouth shut and glares at her stubbornly.

"Hey! You're in my house—" Not really, but true enough, "—So I should know! I have rights!"

"Rights?" the boy echoes. Something like recognition sparks in his face, and he pulls out a dagger.

Amelia almost jumps back. "Wha—"

The boy clumsily swipes the weapon around in the air. It looks old and dull, but it has stains of something on it. "My crew says I have all the reasons to violate rights!"

Amelia stands her ground and does not know whether to be terrified or angry as his words sink in. "What… do you mean you have all the reasons to violate rights?" she hollers, deciding to be both. "That is the worst thing I have ever heard!"

Her voice is loud, and as sharp as a whip, and the boy looks at her with fright.

"What kind of crew do you—" Amelia takes another step closer and slips on one of the screws. "Ah!" She topples to the floor and the boy jumps over her. He runs through the door and out of the building.

Amelia groans in annoyance, pulling herself to her feet. She looks over her shoulder at where the boy had gone, and grimaces. Should I chase after him?

In the end, she decides it would be better to take stock of the store than to go after the boy and — what, rifle through his pockets and hope nobody takes the scene the wrong way?

After checking if anything of importance is missing — oddly, nothing had been taken — Amelia locks the door. She turns the store sign to Closed, latches the windows, and returns to the back room. She cleans up the broken jar glass and all the screws lying around the floor, though with no little grumbling and fantasizing about what she would do if she ever sees that blue brat again.

Once that is finished, Amelia climbs back up the stairs with a sigh. She goes back into her and Matthew's room and sits at the desk. She pulls out a few sheaves of paper and carefully dips a quill into an inkwell.

Amelia begins to write, and write, and continues to write even as the shadows of the room shift ever so slowly. The room is silent other than the quiet scratch, scratch, scratch of quill on paper and Amelia's occasional self-directed murmurs and anticipatory low laughter.

Some time later, Amelia hears the store door being unlocked. Muffled voices come up through the floorboards. Judging by the sound of it, Matthew and Vash have just returned.

Amelia runs to the bedroom doorway, sticks her head out, and shouts, "Matthew, come up, quick!"

After a few muffled noises, Matthew calls back, "Hold on!"

There is a pause. Amelia takes that time to sit back down.

"Amelia, did you take the book?" Matthew's voice reaches Amelia's ears. "You know. The one we bought today."

"What? No!" Amelia addresses the open doorway. Her eyes widen. "Wait, did you leave it in the backroom or something before you left?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, no, Mattie, I think—"

"Hold on. I'm coming up." There is the thump of footsteps going up the stairs.

Amelia puts the quill down quickly and turns around in her seat.

"Before you say anything, Vash says we've got to get rations, so let's talk while we…" Matthew trails off, staring with wide eyes at his twin.

"Mattie!" Amelia points at her new hairdo with both hands, deciding to tell him about the break-in later. "Like it?"

"I… I…" Matthew stutters, before a worried expression crosses his face. Is this some sort of 'finding one's self' thing? Had he been too harsh in the alleyway and initiated a crisis for his twin?

Amelia only grins with self-content. "I know, I look like a boy now, right?"

Matthew shakes his head slowly. "I, uh… Can I… ask what this is all about?" He looks quite hesitant to hear the answer.

"Come here, come on!" Amelia gestures eagerly for her twin to move closer. She turns back to the desk and picks up the quill, tapping the dried tip of it on the corner of one of the papers.

Matthew does as he is told, even though he still seems cautious. He leans over Amelia's shoulder with slightly furrowed eyebrows. The furrow only grows deeper as he scans the chicken scrawl that is his sister's handwriting.

"Aren't girls supposed to have writing like calligraphy, Amelia? Or at least writing neat enough to read, eh?" He raises an eyebrow at her, smiling slightly.

Amelia scowls at him. This is not a new topic of conversation between them. "I was excited," she says hotly, before an amused huff of air quickly comes out past her lips as she remembers what, exactly, she was excited about.

Nobody's ever told me how nice it is to have your whole future planned.

Matthew makes a soft, inquiring noise. He looks bemused at the emotions that crossed Amelia's face and raps his knuckles gently against the side of her head when she only continues to stare down at her scribbles with a goofy expression. "Hey."

"Huh? Oh, okay, look!" Amelia shuffles through the papers until she finds the one she wants. She organizes them all into a pile and grips it with both hands, and then pauses. She looks up at him with a determined set to her mouth.

"What?" Matthew frowns.

"No, this isn't good — you should be sitting."

"What?" Matthew repeats, worry coloring his voice. "Why? Is it bad news?"

"Ugh, no, just — just sit on the bed, Matt!" Amelia flails one of her arms.

"Okay…." Matthew says, sitting down on the mattress. "Sometimes you're really bizarre, just so you know."

Amelia coughs very loudly. "And nobody cares about what you think, moving on."

"Wow, rude," laughs Matthew.

"So, it…" Amelia fumbles. "It goes like. Um."

Matthew clears his throat.

The papers drop from Amelia's hands and slip across the floor. "I-I-I want to go to the early lessons!"

The room falls silent.

Matthew is frozen, his eyes wide and his smile still fixed on his face.

Amelia is almost just as frozen, her back ramrod straight. Her hands are fisted on her knees and her mouth is pressed into a shaky line.

The smile slowly drops from Matthew's face.

Amelia hurriedly opens her mouth. "Look, I know—"

Matthew shoots straight to his feet before she can continue. "Are you crazy?" he half-shouts.

"I—" Amelia starts.

"It's impossible! Don't be an idiot!" Matthew hisses, reigning in his initial reaction of yelling, lest the neighbors hear them arguing about Amelia's terrible, awful want. It occurs to him in the back of his mind that the wall of icy distance between them that had come to existence in the alley has just shattered, and yet has also taken along with it the very remnants of their quiet agreement not to fight.

Amelia pushes the chair back and gets to her feet as well. "I'm not an idiot," she says, upset.

"Then how're you going to get in there?" Matthew asks. "Do you think you could just waltz in—"

"If we could — If you could let me — If I pretended to be you —" Amelia scrabbles for words.

"No."

"No?" Amelia echoes. "Matthew!"

"You don't look like a boy, even with that haircut." Matthew jerks his hands around. "Amelia, have some sense, please!"

Amelia stamps her foot. "I look like you enough."

"Enough? What do you even mean?" Matthew asks, looking like he wants to cry. "You're still a girl."

"It means that we're twins!"

"They'll ask for papers. Identification. It won't take long, Amelia — they'll find out."

Amelia pauses, mouth pursing. "Then I'll sneak in. I'll bribe the guard. I'll wear the most innocuous clothes ever. I'll do anything—"

"Enough," grits out Matthew.

"It can work," Amelia says stubbornly. "Just let me try."

"Don't be so naive!" Matthew cries out. "I won't help you! This isn't safe."

They stare at each other.

"I don't…" Amelia stops, swallows. "I don't want to stay stuck like this, Matthew." She gestures at the window. "All I do is look out of that thing, whenever I'm not doing odd jobs." Her eyes are scrunched up as she meets his. "I hate doing odd jobs."

"Amelia—"

"I hate it," she says viciously. "Cooking, cleaning... Is that really all I'm good for?"

Matthew curls his hands into fists. "Stop thinking like that."

"Why should I?"

"You can find other ways," says Matthew. "You don't have to be stuck."

"Exactly," Amelia says. "That's exactly it — I don't. I can find a way to sneak into the lessons."

"Being able to fly won't magically make you unstuck," Matthew says. "You don't have to be a hero. Not like that."

"I want to. That's what's important."

"Why?" says Matthew, the old, old question of his childhood days resurfacing in that moment. "Why do you want to fly? What is so special about the sky?"

Amelia only frowns at him. "Matthew, I love you. But I want to fly, too. I want to be a hero."

Matthew breathes out sharply. "This petty war doesn't have any heroes!"

"What?"

"You know it's all about pride and greed."

"Well, that doesn't mean there aren't any heroes!"

Matthew looks grim and presses on. "All the pilots do is fight and kill—"

"To keep everyone safe—"

"Because the crown told them to—"

"Because they want to protect the city and its people, for crying out loud, Mattie—" Amelia's voice is rising.

"They only formally train people who are rich and from high statuses and there's something wrong and you know it—"

"Even without formal training, people want to do it because they're heroes!" Amelia says loudly, her voice just a notch under a shout.

Matthew sets his jaw. "Then what's a hero?"

"What?"

"What is a hero?" Matthew demands. "Amelia?"

There is a pause as Amelia stares at him, looking as if she has a million things to say and knows a million more things Matthew could reply with.

"What are you trying to say?" Amelia finally asks, her voice cracking.

Matthew tries to make his tone as gentle as it can be. "I'm saying that you should think."

There is an angry wetness in Amelia's eyes that she tries to blink away. "Fuck this," is all she says, and she storms out of the room. The door slams, the stairs thud, and her footsteps fade out of the building.

Matthew is left with a paper-strewn room and a wish that his sister had the ability to listen.

-;-

It is that time of the day when it is late enough for the sun to bruise the sky a glowing goodbye. The warm light splashes onto the faces of people scurrying around from destination to destination in the City of Clubs. Soon, the tilting lamp poles that are scattered in unequal distances from each other will shine a flickery orange-yellow wash over the streets.

That is something that happens every evening at six, in every area of the city. It is a constant, much like the sky — and yet, even though Arthur is sure of that fact...

Arthur is not exactly sure where he is.

Everything in the City of Clubs looks absolutely similar to everything else; Arthur could be near the very edge of the city, or the very center, for all he knows.

Arthur glances around the area, a little helpless, a little frustrated, but not desperate enough to go up to a stranger on the streets and ask for assistance. Only those with nothing to lose do such things in a place like this, and even as an heir to a luxurious fortune Arthur knows that.

Arthur holds back a sigh and begins to mentally go through the various survival rules his instructors have drilled into his head.

First: assess the situation.

Someone shoves past Arthur, making him nearly fall on his face.

The eighteen-year-old stumbles to a stop and almost curses at them, but snaps his mouth shut when he sees the size of the man who had jostled him. He is tall, so much so that Arthur has to tilt his head up to look, and when the man glances back over his shoulder the menacing expression on his face makes Arthur step back in alarm.

Arthur looks away with a low cough and begins inconspicuously patting down his clothes. Nothing would be missing, because he did not even think to bring money with him, but he still feels like something had happened back there.

Arthur moves to a more secluded place so that he can think clearly without being a target for pickpockets and swindlers. He uneasily resumes his assessment.

Location… I am in an unknown area. No means of communication easily available. Cause of situation… Arthur regards the street before him dryly. I got myself lost.

It isn't even for a good reason. The residence halls at World Academy are often complained about by their inhabitants, but Arthur has never seen the reason why he should. In his opinion, the temperature is regulated well, the rooms are generously-sized, and the interiors are both airy and bright. In fact, Arthur finds that he can usually read his textbooks as peacefully there as he could read his journals at home — that is to say, even the interruptions of his older brothers are replaced quite equally with the interruptions of his schoolmates.

Though today was a different story.

Arthur couldn't bring himself to step inside after the crew activity, much less read books on how to fly. He had stared up at the building for nearly five seconds before turning on his heel and marching to who-knew-where. He noticed some students walking out of the academy gates, and before he knew it Arthur found himself milling around the streets surrounding the campus.

It wasn't long before he looked around and realized he had no idea where he was.

Trying to shake off the embarrassment he feels (Bonnefoy would laugh himself sick, the right bastard), Arthur lets out a vexed huff of air and looks up.

The Castle of Clubs is a towering thing that is well in Arthur's sights, but that does not mean it is any easier for him to find his way back.

(There is a sardonic elegance in the way the city's streets twist and wind to the point they force a person to navigate, or get lost — and most likely mugged — trying.)

Arthur is certain that others nearby do actually notice his dilemma, but nobody makes a move to help him. The whole thing would be almost irritating, except their reluctance is quite understandable, because he knows he would do the same. Any logical person would.

After all, what World Academy student wanders around at such an hour, at such a distance from the school grounds, assuming Arthur is as far away as he feels?

The answer would either be a foolish student, or someone who is not a student at all — a con man. Both of which characters nobody would do well in associating with, ever.

I wish I were neither, Arthur thinks sourly, but unfortunately, all signs point to the former being the truth.

(A foolish student, Arthur Kirkland? How new. How awful.

A nice break from being a coward, maybe.)

-;-

Amelia stalks down the street, trying to keep her stormy expression to a minimum. She is mad, so much so that it feels enough to choke her, but at what her feelings are directed at, she is not certain.

At Matthew? Herself? The world?

Herself, most likely.

A flash of muted gold catches her eye — it is the insignia of World Academy. The symbol is printed on a small paper placed in the corner of a flower shop's window, where the family of one of the students presumably makes business, similar to what the van Rijns do.

Too bad you aren't male, though.

The words echo in Amelia's head. It is too much, and she has to breathe in sharply, rubbing sudden tears off her face with a rough movement of her arm.

And rich, too.

The tears come more and more freely. Amelia keeps wiping her face with her knuckles even after they are too wet to be of much use, and through glances past her fingers she can see that yes, the crying girl making her way down the avenues is garnering attention enough to be avoided.

The sky's pretty, is all.

-;-

Arthur is lost again.

"I had it," he says under his breath resentfully. "I know I did."

However, the Castle of Clubs is still in the very same spot and is the very same size it was fifteen minutes ago, and the streets all still look the same, unfortunately and unsurprisingly.

All this — all this — because I was scared of trying to look normal and reading textbooks.

If only Arthur had brought one of his adventurers' journals; he could be reading about secret passageways that lead underneath the city, with the ways of how one should go about opening them written in paragraphs upon paragraphs of carefully inked words.

It requires a great deal of courage for one to go on possibly fruitless quests, however. Even if Arthur found a passageway, even if he shifted a piece of the wall or the ceiling in just the right position, he wouldn't know what else to do.

Arthur looks up.

The sky is still cloudy.

Maybe, Arthur thinks, there will be a storm tonight.

He should hurry it up.

-;-

Maybe I should just give in.

Who is to say Amelia can have what she wants the most? Life wasn't made for her; it wasn't made for anyone. The same goes for the sky, and the stars. Amelia is probably thought of as a mistake by fate itself, a girl wanting to be something everyone knows she can't be.

Everyone but her.

The thought makes the sky look heavy, for some reason.

And Amelia's limbs already feel heavy, with anger — and hopelessness — and hurt — except then something loud just like thunder booms right behind her and she whips around in a circle in quick-sinking terror, because she thinks that sounded exactly like —

"The Fourth City is attacking!"

— an enemy attack.

-;-

Arthur stares up at the sky in horror as it fills with war zeppelins. They are just like the ones he saw during instructions, except these are less glossy, less distant, because now they are zooming around right above him, above them all.

They are made for war and faster than the ones Arthur has ever seen leisurely skimming around the city, especially the solo zeppelins. Deceitfully warm golds and oranges color the ships, the insignia of the City of Diamonds a stark black easily seen against the sails.

The Diamonds' sails are flashier than the rounder ones of the Clubs' zeppelins, which are now streaking across the sky as well, all shades of green ships and black clubs.

The roads are filled with uproar, and mothers herding their children inside buildings, cart vendors quickly gathering up shop, available officers blowing whistles and shouting unintelligible words, and footsteps thudding against the cobblestones in time with heartbeats.

Another loud boom rings in the air. Something goes up in flames.

It is frenzied, and it is terrifying, and all Arthur can think is that he should not be here.

What are they all doing at World Academy?

-;-

Amelia pushes past the people still on the streets, fright slicing into her very bones. Everything is too loud, too bright. Too many people are crying — why are they crying, they should be running to safety—

Where is safety, though?

Sirens begin to sound from all around.

Screams blend in with cries and shouts, and the ground shakes and something explodes, and for a moment, Amelia's vision blurs.

-;-

Someone barrels into Arthur and they both go down.

"Watch where you're going!" Arthur wheezes with his eyes squeezed shut, mostly because that is all he can think of to say at that moment. He has received the brunt of the fall, since the other person fell on top of him.

"I'm sorry," the other person — a girl — gasps. She scrambles off of him just as an exceptionally loud explosion sounds again, and when Arthur opens his eyes all he can see is the back of a head, a sloppy pixie cut of dark gold, because her face is turned to where the noise came from.

Then his gaze slides to the thing she is staring at, which is something that looks like —

"Lightning?" the girl shouts, wobbly standing up.

Arthur can only shake his head as he stands up himself, because the molten colored streak of light is a single line, and is separating itself from the sky like a slow motion raindrop.

Arthur recognizes it from his studies, and it is not lightning. It is a barrel bomb — a barrel loaded with explosives. But this particular barrel has hundreds of yards of flashy yellow-white paper tied to it like a present — a signature move of the City of Diamonds, because they are a terrible and gaudy lot.

The barrel disappears behind the Castle of Clubs, the psuedo-lightning paper trailing after it.

A deafening boom later, and the Castle and the area surrounding it is nearly covered in a dark cloud of ash and dust and flames.

Everyone falters in their running for one, two, three seconds of muted horror, before a blast of air knocks them all to nearly stumbling.

A young boy in blue trips in front of Arthur and the girl he had collided with, skinning his hands and knees on the stones. He looks up at them and pales.

Arthur feels the blood drain from his face as well.

-;-

Amelia gasps. "You!" she says, forcing her focus on the blue boy, because he is right in front of her and the Castle is not, and she has business with him and not with the Castle, and that is what is important right now. She makes to grab him. "You took Matthew's book—"

Before she can get to him, however, a large man with a threatening expression comes past the people running around and scoops up the blue boy in a fluid motion.

"No!" the blue boy screams, his face paling even more to an ashen white. "Don't—" His arms stretch out in Amelia and the other boy's direction.

The blue boy and the large man disappear as they turn a corner.

It takes three seconds for Amelia to realize she has just witnessed a kidnapping.

It takes another second for her to shoot after them.

-;-

Arthur's heart is racing.

It can't have been.

Are his hands shaking?

But it was.

It takes five seconds for Arthur to run.

-;-

Amelia rushes past people who are running around the streets, and any other time she would not have cared for the crowd but right now she is trying to save a kidnapped child.

"Outta my way!" she yells as she dodges a vendor's cart, the owner of which shouting for her to watch it.

If Amelia strains her neck, she thinks she can see the blond head of the large man bobbing somewhere ahead, and sometimes flashes of dark and light blue.

A loud string of obscenities come from behind her. "Everyone's runnin'!" someone shouts. "They didn' knock over my cart, boy!"

"Shut up!"

Amelia glances over her shoulder and finds that the boy she had bumped into is right on her heels.

The large man is now quickly carrying the boy into one of the alleyways. Amelia forces herself to move faster, and veers into the mouth of the alley just as a door on one of the buildings' sides slams shut.

She pulls it and runs through, hearing the boy bang the door to keep it open as he does the same. They follow the man into the winding, dusty hallways filled with cobwebs and cracked glass. It seems that they are in an abandoned wing of a hospital. Amelia's heart quickens at the thought.

Their steps falter when it gets too dark for them to see, but when the blue boy's voice starts speaking, gaining volume and speed and unhappiness with each unintelligible word, they both sprint with that as their guide.

Another door slams ahead of them. They reach the end of the hallway and go through the door, into an empty room.

"What?" The older boy breathes heavily, looking upset. He starts knocking frantically on the walls.

Amelia catches on and moves to copy him on the wall opposite, but stops when one of her steps produces an echo that should not have happened on a concrete floor.

The boy is at her side in an instant. They both drop to their knees. He slides his hands over the ground and breathes out when a spot feels more like wood. He presses the spot and it slides down farther into the floor. There is a click, and what is left is a small, rectangular hole.

"A passageway," the boy whispers, his eyes wide.

The boy feels around the sides of the hole until he finds somewhere his fingers disappear in. Then he pulls, and an entire block of the floor easily lifts up like a basement hatch.

All Amelia sees is a metal ladder that reaches well into a tunnel of darkness. She glances up at the boy, who stares down into the tunnel with no small amount of trepidation.

"Then I'll go first," she says, already lowering herself onto the rungs. She almost slips.

He looks at her, an objection clear on his face. "You don't know what's down there!"

"A kidnapped child, that's what!"

"Wh—" The boy clenches his jaw. "Go faster, then!"

Amelia begins her descent.

Names:

Gupta Muhammad Hassan - Egypt
Vash Zwingli (Mattie's mentor) - Switzerland
Lili Zwingli (Vash's sister) - Liechtenstein
Lukas Bondevik (Arthur's instructor) - Norway
Densen (Arthur's section's main instructor) - Denmark
Laura van Rijn (Amelia's friend) - Belgium
Lars van Rijn (Laura's brother) - Netherlands
Lux van Rijn (youngest van Rijn) - Luxembourg
Vladimir Popescu (Zwingli household's neighbor) - Romania
Mola Popescu (Vladimir's younger brother) - Moldova

A/N: So. Suggestions, questions, tips? All welcome! Thank you for reading!